Change Up

You know how sometimes when you're convicted of drinking and driving they install those blow-in-the-tube things to start your engine? Well, I think there should also be one for people when they walk into a bar. You blow into it and if it registers "Angry", "Pissed Off" or "Bitter", you should be denied a drink. Turn your ass around and take the negative vibes home to beat up your pillow.

Life would be simpler.

In case you haven't noticed, the drinking of alcoholic beverages has a tendency to increase the intensity of crap feelings. Sad, mad, distraught - they are strongly magnified with a little bottle therapy.

I was in a pretty foul mood yesterday for no real reason. Just giving that negative vibe. No Sunshine Sally here. I've decided that what I need to pull me out of this funkarama was some good, quality time with Gay Jay.

Sidenote: I believe that it is a necessity for every woman to have at least one or two really good gay guy friends. They add additional balance. But, don't have too many because then they will refer to you (as Jay does to some) as a Fruit Fly. And, FYI, that's not endearing.

Anywho, our happy hour conversation, or gossip session, actually did, or so I thought, put me back into a good mood. By my second glass of wine I was laughing and really enjoying our time together. But, like everything else, all good things have to come to an end. Jay had to pursue additional social obligations and I should have taken this opportunity to go home and rest my little head.

But that would be too easy.

I planted myself at the sushi bar (my friend is a waitress there) and decided to treat myself to some Big Eye Toro sashimi and some additional prosecco (because it's my favorite). Well, bad move. First, the Toro sucked (and for $30 for an order of sashimi that sucks too). And, with Jay's absence, my bad mood returned and it was time to dial-and-bitch. Target? Charlie. Yes, Charlie.

To his future dismay, he actually answered the call. Things that have been brewing for months on end decided to come out all at once (by the way, I had luckily dismissed myself from the public arena by this point). Word vomit. And none of it positive. I would like to attribute my temporary psychotic break to my friend lacing my Prosecco with truth serum or PCP but we all know that is unlikely.

At the time, I felt relieved. I had said my "piece". I was woman.

But I woke up this morning with a stinging headache, a missing license, smeared mascara and that horrible feeling of dread - the one you feel when you review the "Dialed Calls" on your cell phone. Oops.

So that's why they need this new invention. To keep boneheads like me from drinking and bitching. As if losing all sense of composure wasn't enough, now I also have to apologize to my ex for the word vomit. And there's nothing less gratifying than that.

Jay should have kidnapped me when he left.

Lesson learned.