Meditations on a Saturday Night

To use a quote from [the absolutely hilarious] Ghost Stories: I dragged my happy ass out in the rain this evening.

...and everything felt alien.

Earlier this week, I was talking with Garrett and saw a piece on Will & Grace, which prompted me to ask if I was like Karen Walker. Garrett & I have the sort of friendship wherein honesty reigns supreme, so I believed him when he said "yes."

Although to be truly honest, I'm a hybrid between Karen Walker and Edina Monsoon, except that I'm male and have no interest whatsoever in fashion.

Or at least I was.

I omitted to tell you one interesting thing that happened on the cruise. I started a detox program for no other reason than to appease my own vanity.

It all started with a woman coating my torso, thighs, and posterior in algae, imbedding electrodes in them and then letting the currents do their thing. Their thing in this case being trimming the waist and getting rid of toxins, and dammit if it didn't do the business.

Of course these things come in package deals, and in this particular case, the package deal was a series of home treatments involving pills, assorted lotions and ointments to slather on my corpus, and a brush that is supposed to be used on dry skin (and hurts like hell).

This all sounds hunky-dory (and very Chelsea, actually), but the downside is that I can no longer drink the way I used to. I used to be able to handle if not 9 drinks a night, then at least 6, mixing to my heart's content.

No more.

I had 6 drinks Wednesday night and felt so bad that I couldn't even wait for food at McDonald's. I'm not so much obsessed with appearances--at least my self-perception tells me so--but I can imagine that vomiting at a McDonald's in Chelsea on a Wednesday night would not be an experience that I want to have.

So I'm on a 4 drink limit with no mixing, and I'll be honest with you, it has put me in a foul mood. You see, alcohol has that lovely effect of making you not as aware of your surroundings, so you don't mind the fact that the bartender takes some time in serving you, nor do you realise that apparently your voice is so soft that "Disaronno Sour" is rendered inaudible to said bartender, and nor do you really care about the inane discourse going on next to you by a bunch of college or grad students who think everything is so "FABULOUS!"

It's like a whole new world, and trust me, I'm looking forward to returning to the old one once I can finish off these pills and lotions.

Maybe we should add in Patsy Stone to the mix as well.