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25 March 2009 @ 10:48 am
The lesson is: never try.

Every quarter my work has a potluck; every quarter I bust my ass thinking I have a chance to win in the catagory of my choosing. Every quarter, I'm roundly dismissed as a culinary fraud. So, I've since stopped trying. I've got some No Bake cookies here that are Diabetes On Wheels. I think next time I'm going to significantly alter the recipe, from what I was told:

Over medium heat:

Stick of butter
2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons of chocolate milk powder
1/2 cup of milk

Bring to a boil for one minute

Mix with:

3 cups dry oatmeal
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 tablespoon of vanilla

They're not bad, don't get me wrong. But I think I want real chocolate next time. And more peanut butter. These are a little soft and I'm not enough of a food wizard to understand why; the ones my aunt made were definitely more chocolatey and peanut buttery (and firmer, breaking apart almost like fudge in your mouth). Either way, they look like The Runs and I anticipate with great excitement telling people they'll come out looking the same way they looked going in.

In other news, I was fucked UP last Saturday. One full day, twelve solid hours of puke puke puking. Not constant, of course, but the last time I crawled away from the toilet it was 10pm, whereupon I forced myself to go to bed having eaten nothing all day. Or, rather, having kept nothing DOWN all day. But that's neither here nor there. Made me stronger (or my liver jump ship for good, I can't decide).

Anybody want to know the recipe for a Four Horsemen? Well, here it is:

1 shot Jack Daniels
1 shot Jim Beam
1 shot Johnny Walker
1 shot Jose Cuervo

Pour into the same glass. Chug in two painful gulps.

In spite of all that bourbon, the only thing I tasted was the one-quarter tequila. Why couldn't that fourth horseman be Captain Morgan or something? I think I'll go ahead and invent the wuss Four Horsemen:

1 shot Captain Morgan
1 shot Malibu Joe
1 shot Ron Rigo
1 shot Vladimir "Vanilla" Stolichnaya

God, I could go for a Wuss Four Horsemen right about now.

Anyhow, I didn't drink that drink by choice. It was a gift. A horrible, horrible gift that somebody else was too sick (or vagina-like) to drink. That's neither here nor there; after a long day of watching basketball, Power Houring, and hanging out with Sober Mark, I used poor judgment. I was young and I was stupid. And over time, I am confident, and at the end of my career, people will see this for what it is - a stupid mistake and a lesson learned for a guy with a lot of drinking left to do.

Saturday really screwed the pooch though. I've never, EVER had a hangover last as long. At my worst, I'm writhing around in agony, I puke and retreat to the couch a few times, then I force some food in me and I'm better by 5pm, 6pm tops. Only problem here was, my normal hangover food - frozen pizza - was also the last thing I'd eaten moments before going to bed. Not only could I still taste it in my mouth hours later when I woke up, but I could feel that frozen-pizza-not-quite-digested texture coming out of my mouth seconds after I ran into the bathroom. Not so appetizing after that point. I tried pretzels - BLARGH. I tried a dill pickle - BLARGH. I tried a few peanuts, some water, some Pepto tablets, and half of a plain white bagel - BLARGH, BLARGH, BLARGH! So, I missed out on my chance to go down to Tacoma with my brother and finish re-watching Season 4 of Rescue Me. With this weekend blown to smithereens up at Devin's grandma's, I'm going to have to arrange a time with my brother the following weekend to really bang it all out. Season 5 starts April 7th according to my biological clock.

I woke up safe and sound on Sunday though. Had some food, watched some TV while sitting upright. Drove down to Tacoma, met my dad, took him to a movie for his birthday (four days before mine, but what can you do), had some Mexican food for dinner, watched a little Godfather II on AMC. All in all, a nice little Sunday. Quality bookend for the esteem that was Wednesday Night/All Day Thursday.

Bowling. Drinking. Drinking. Drinking. Podcasting. (Still need to get that last thing online). Drinking. Bob Saget Roast. Passed out. Woke up at 7am, passed back out on the living room couch this time. Woke up at 9am, proceeded to stay on that mothereffin' couch for the next 13 hours! Boom goes the dynamite! Never once changed the channel from CBS. Only got up to occasionally get food, liquid, and urinate. Best. Day. Ever. Had some Taco Del Mar and later on some BK Mini-Whoppers (because I refuse to call them BurgerShots). Never did get my Godfather's Pizza fix, don't know why that one escaped me, but what can you do.

My unending sloth on Thursday had me so tuckered out that I was incapable of driving back up to Seattle that night. I had to get up at 8am on Friday to do that. But, since Colin was running a little late, that gave me plenty of time to buy snacks, clean house, shower, and hunker down. He got there around 11am or so and we started with the beer.

Now, unlike Thursday - when the Washington Huskies were the marquee game in the 2:30pm - 4:30pm hours - they HAD no game for a solid 90 to 120 minutes! My bright idea was to do a Power Hour to pass the time. I had no idea this was such a miraculous feat for some people; I'm pretty sure my brother and I regularly perform power hours without even trying. Nevertheless, Colin knew out of the gate that he was going to struggle. Excuses coming fast and furious as early as ten minutes in. In the end, he did a power half hour, but that's all right, I won't hold it against him. It takes a finely honed addiction to alcohol to get where I am.

Mark and Devin showed up in the subsequent afternoon hours. Then Pete and Jenny arrived, and Nate wandered on home from work. Even Matt found some time in his day for basketball and cocktails! Got to show off our homemade Sour Mix in some Whiskey Sours. It was a good time. And once the games ended, the decision was broached:

Go out?

I was gung-ho, and then I wasn't. I was all ready to go to bed - using lack of funds for a cab ride as an excuse. Then Nate slammed down $15 into my hand and I was S.O.L. It could've all ended right there. I would've coasted into bed no worse for wear. Instead, The Four Horsemen of the Stevepacolypse.