Meandering Nonsensicalities

Buckle up, kiddies, this post is going to swerve around like a souped-up Honda on a Tokyo drift. Giddyup!

Let's start with me, as important (and devilishly handsome) a topic there is. I'd like to tell you that I've got life by the short and curlies; that I've got it all solved. Look, I Get It, and have for a couple years, but when night's like last Saturday happen I question whether my personal apocalypse is closer than I think. The evening started innocently enough, drinking champagne and shootin' the poop with friends. We decided to up the ante a bit and lower the collective sobriety of the room with good old fashioned drinking games. I played with my own bottle of bub because, hey, I'm a classy dude.

Pennypacker and I outlasted everyone, so we returned to his compound to continue the merriment, though by then Lady P. had retired to her chambers. We carried on like a GD sewing circle; me with my Andre and he with his peasant swill. The cards became sloppy and my cerebellum got itchy. Yes, it was indeed time to call it a night.

If only it were that easy, dear reader. I could, and should, have taken a cab, but my palate begged for a taste of adventure. One would have no trouble coming up with a word other than adventure for my 3:00 a.m. inebriated, mile-plus stroll through seedy sections of our federal district. I'm not talking seedy in the hipster, "real" people sense; it was straight sketch.

If I ended my tale here, one might say "what were you thinking, Wick?" Or "you're lucky you weren't on the business end of a shiv." But it isn't the end, oh no friends. I somehow managed to remain lucid enough to patronize the 7-11 as my journey neared its conclusion. On the menu, two Go-Go Taquitos and a Stouffer's microwave mac and cheese. I cracked open a beer I didn't need, and fortunately didn't drink, sat on my couch with my gastronomic delights and watched Dawson's Creek. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Now with the great taste of failure and vanquished dreams

It was a sad state of affairs when I came to; bits of crunchy, melted cheese and plastic in my hair and Joey Potter showing off a vocabulary beyond her years whilst sassing Pacey Whitter for his childish shenanigans.

This is my life...