flawed:LOGIC

This weekend was absolutely killer. It was only 2 days long, but it seems like I accomplished so much.

Friday, other than going grocery shopping, we all just chilled out at home. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was in bed before 10pm, if you can believe it. There was no particular reason for my drowsiness, but regardless, I’ve matured enough to know that going to bed early is fine.  And so I did.  I slept, then I slept some more. Then I slept even more just to make sure I had it down. By the time I had woke up, I had been asleep for damn near 14 hours.

I woke up so refreshed, that within 15 minutes of waking up, I decided that I’m going to start training for the half-marathon rollerblade race on May 24. So I laced up my boots, and took off for a brisk 2km ride. Of course I had all but forgot that mainland Bermuda is about as flat as a mountain isn’t, which meant that while the first kilometer was mostly downhill, the return kilometer was almost all uphill. Eventually I made it home, sweating profusely, but nevertheless, I had done it. Other than the extreme lack of oxygen my lungs were now experiencing, I felt fantastic.

After relaxing for a bit, Matt and Hazen woke up and we made our way downtown for the customary 2 egg breakfast at the bistro, followed by some shopping. While downtown, Sarah (our British nanny friend) saw us from across the street and came over to chat. She was just bumming around downtown too, so we invited her to tag along while we made use of the beautiful day by spending it inside a bunch of different shops.

I picked up some tea towels for the kitchen, because I am sick of only ever having one clean one to dry dishes with. I picked up a whole new outfit, consisting of some Liz Claiborne grey and white pin stripe pants, a nice black belt, some Tommy Hilfiger socks, and a really nice white Calvin Klein shirt. I looked at some blue Dolce & Gabbana leather shoes (the color looked like denim) but after seeing the $620 price tag, relegated them to my next month list. I also managed to buy a cowboy hat  from Makin’ Waves (first of all, cowboy hat in Bermuda? and secondly, if anyone down here could pull off a cowboy hat, it’s me) after Vane and Joel told me it suited me, which may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t shaved in nearly a week.

After doing most of our shopping, we stopped at a second hand furniture store on the way out of town to look at some beds, as Matt was getting sick of me sleeping on his futon, a fact he never failed to remind me of daily. I found a really comfortable futon, and just as I was paying, Matt called us up (he had just lost the invitational poker tournament that he’d been looking forward to for months) and met us there. I paid for the futon, and he bought 4 kitchen chairs for our previously chair-less table, and a dresser for his bedroom. $65 to get everything delivered that afternoon; not bad.

We got home and just relaxed after our long day of walking around, anxious to get our new furniture delivered. In preparation for their arrival, we brought Matt’s futon out of my bedroom and to living room (to bring our total living room futon count to 2), and after putting it off for the past 3 months, mounted our projector to the ceiling so that people wouldn’t trip on the cord.

We barbecued hotdogs and hamburgers (well, I barbecued; they just ate them) and out of seemingly nowhere, my ex-fiancee Ashley sent me an MSN, to say hi. After nearly two years of being apart, it was weird talking to her. Not because it seemed foreign, but rather the opposite: it felt like no time had passed. We ended up talking about how much our lives had changed in two years, and how well we were both doing. Funnily enough, we both mentioned that even though we know that we’ll never get back together, 2 years later we still think about each other daily. I guess first loves are like that.

Saturday night was rapidly approaching and after taking my gramma’s advice (which was conveniently written in her Christmas card to me) and toning down the amount I’ve been drinking (if you’ll notice, we only went out once last weekend, and once again this weekend), we got all prettied up to go out. (I feel as though I should mention that I made it a point to wear the cowboy hat out to the bar. Not because I feel like a cowboy or anything, I just felt like being different.)

We got downtown and were going to head into Legends (the sports bar in behind Flanagan’s) to watch Hockey Day in Canada, but the entire place was full to the brim with people watching the NFL playoffs. We decided that we didn’t feel like hunting around downtown for a place to start off our drinking so the four of us (Hazen, Matt, Sarah, and I) just walked back to Flanagans and sat out on the patio and had a couple drinks and just talked about random things, like the 1km race that was taking place this weekend.

We finished our drinks, and walked down Front Street to Square One where we got our drinks from the bar but yet again decided to sit out on the patio. Here’s where things get interesting. A girl who was inside with a bunch of her girlfriends came outside to ask about the cowboy hat (why? who? etc.) and after making some small talk, had her bring all her friends out. We had a table of about 10 people all hanging out and drinking, when I made the smart (read: stupid) decision to do shots. And when I say shots, I don’t mean those girly passionfruit/mango schnapps shots or whatever, I’m talking “GET MY SOMBRERO BECAUSE JOSE’S HERE!!! ARRIBA!!!” shots.

A shot of tequila later (well, one plus one for good luck) and everything tastes purple for a second.

It was at this point that things start to get a bit hazy. I know sometime after the tequila, we migrated one door down to Cafe Cairo. I remember sitting at this really cool, really low table with Moroccan decorations all over.

And then I remember being at home. (Score this one: Memory – 1, Justin – 0)

Anyways, I figured I’d deserved a good night out from all the stuff I had managed to get done earlier that day. Plus, I knew that Matt and Hazen were going golfing Sunday morning (which was apparently hilarious, because it’s an 18 hole, par 3, and even though Hazen scored a cool 120, he managed to hit a freakin’ duck in the process) so I knew I could sleep in.

Long story short, I didn’t sleep in, but I woke up feeling like a hundred bucks. So I got up, cleaned up almost the entire kitchen (did the dishes, etc), cooked breakfast for myself and Sarah who had stayed the night thanks to her scooter being at our place, and spent the rest of the day being lazy. We half-watched a movie we had of this Irish comic Dylan Moran doing standup, in between glances to our respective laptops doing whatever happened to grab our attention at the moment.

All in all, I’d say it was a great weekend. Apparently, Matt got the number of one of the girls who came to talk to me about my cowboy hat (and if Matt actually kept it, she must be damn hot), Hazen hit a duck with a golfball, and I have my own bed.

Now I just need those shoes.

Well, it seems that this has been a pretty good weekend for everyone I know. My cousin met someone who seems to make him pretty damn happy, Matt had his quarter century birthday (here-here!), and Hazen and I found a boat that we think we’re gonna buy and redo.

It’s a 34′ mini-yacht that was converted into a diving boat for one of the local diving companies, but due to the fact that business is slowing down, they’re selling this one. They only want $10,000 so Hazen and I will each put down $1,000 for the down payment, and will each foot the rest of the bill for each of the two $4,000 loans we’ll need.

One of the two engines works, but the other one needs to be rebuilt, and once the engine is done, we’re going to completely re-do the interior, but it’ll be a great summer project. Matt will be able to go scuba diving off of it, and Hazen and I will be able to actually accomplish something.

At this point, I’m sure you’re all just dying to see some pictures, so here they are:

Good morning everyone, and happy new year!  I hope everyone has at least began the first steps of recovery from this weekend.  Whether it be an earlier bed time these last few days, or a couple of extra glasses of water per day in attempt to fix that nasty hangover; fixing yourself should be priority one.
I know that personally, I’ve had a rather rough time trying to get my head back on straight.  What’s doubly strange is that my body was damn near 100% on Monday.  I woke up, expecting to feel something akin to death or Barry Manilow’s singing, but I just had two sore legs (apparently you shouldn’t wear leather soled shoes when you go out to a NYE party where dancing will be prevalent) which were quickly cured by a pair of Extra Strength Tylenol Gelcaps.

You see, on New Year’s Eve, we went to a party at BMDS (Bermuda Musical & Dramatic Society) which was one of the biggest parties on the island.  Tickets were eighty bucks a pop, plus $5/drink, and bottles of champagne were $65.  We arrived at around 9:45 or so, and I started my latest adventure into alcoholism by giving the woman 150 dollars and asking for 15 drink tickets (as you can tell, my math skills were already fading into the abyss, and we hadn’t even got our foot in the door, which should give you some idea of the events to come) but Matt caught my snafu in time and I ended up with 10 tickets for $50.
By 11:30, I had managed to go through my first 10 tickets at an extraordinary pace.  I made my way to the front of the building to buy more tickets, and got 5 more.  At this point I was completely oblivious to the fact that my blood alcohol level was interchangeable with my age at this point, so drinking had become less of a priority and more of a contest with myself; could I manage to hold the glass steady enough while I raise my arm to my face?  If I aim up and to the left just a bit, will I be on track to hit my wobbling head at the right time?  No, didn’t think so.

At 11:45 I decided that we needed some champagne for the countdown.  I ran inside and bought a bottle for $65 (I hope that’s all I paid), and grabbed 6 glasses.  Matt, Hazen and I ran outside with the champagne and 5 glasses (one was somehow lost in the 6 steps between the champagne booth and the door) and found some girls to ring the New Year in with.  The 6 of us managed to down the bottle at a pace that would make most fish jealous, and following that, Hazen and I each lit up the last cigarette we would ever smoke.

Backstory: about a month ago, Hazen and I were standing on our back porch, and as we were talking we both made this really disgusting face.  After conferring, we realized that we had both made it thanks to how much we hated the taste of smoking.  We made the decision that our New Year’s resolution would be to quit smoking.  The fact that there wouldn’t be any temptation in the house would be beneficial as we wouldn’t have any reminders that we smoke.

After taking the last drag, I ceremoniously dropped the butt to the ground, stomped it out with great force, and proceeded to do what little jig I could, considering a) how much room I had, and b) what percent of my circulatory system was shriveling up at that moment.

Once we had realized that both of our hands were now empty (no smoke, and no champagne), we felt that the situation needed to be remedied by filling at least one of our two hands with the sweet, sweet nectar of the gods, and made our way back to the bar.  At this point, I’ve had so many drinks, I just give the bartender my entire strip of tickets, and tell him that he’s been a great friend all these years (even if I have only met him for the first time hours earlier) and to get each of these ladies standing next to me a drink (I later found out there wasn’t anyone standing next to me).

Around 1:15am, we were standing outside under the tent, and Matt says he’s getting tired.  For some reason or other (maybe we were talking to some girls, I’m not too sure), we decide that we’re not going anywhere, which Matt decides he’s OK with, and he walks off to go catch a cab out front.  Now I’m still not sure if he was just too drunk for his own good, or if he was genuinely trying to fuck with us, but around quarter to 2 rolls around, Matt walks back into our little circle and says “Fuck, I forget what I was doing…..oh yeah….going home…see ya guys!” and then walks off.  For a good 30 seconds, we all just kind of looked at each other in amazement.  Not a single person that we could find know what happened to him for that half hour.  No one saw him walking around, no one saw him in the washroom, and there’s a no re-entry policy at the party.
After giving up trying to figure out what the hell he was doing, we somehow made our way to a cab, and got home.  I am still not sure how we made it home, but we made it in one piece, with every piece of clothing and every accessory we originally left with.  While some may call that amazing, I would call that nothing short of miraculous.  The only thing I remember before passing out (in my own bed, no less) was having to hold on to the wall, because it felt like the Tilt-A-Whirl was testing their new supersonic prototype in my bedroom.

Monday, I woke up and except for my sore legs, I was damn near ready to run a marathon.

Unfortunately, Tuesday (yesterday), I didn’t feel too shit hot.  It’s like God decided that he wanted to give me a day of rest before he knocked me around like a punching bag at Gold’s Gym.  I had to go to the hospital for my X-Rays anyways, so when I got there, I asked to be put on an IV to help me get better; apparently IVs are only for actually sick people.  Go figure.

But here I am today, alive and well, if not a little less intelligent than I was 3 days ago.  It’s funny though, even after this whole debacle, I can definitely take something away from it: if you’re going to buy drink tickets, do it sober.