Wednesday, November 21, 2007

sparks may cause punctuation and caps lock abuse. please consume responsibly.

Look, some people just have to learn the hard way that Sparks is a bad, bad, bad drink. They don't listen when their friends tell them horror stories of waking up in the middle of the night with severe heart palpitations several days later, or of snapping out of a fog at their desk the next morning and realizing they have no idea how they drove from Dupont to Dulles but are still way too drunk to drive home but way too wired to stay at work and not have co-workers wonder what they've been snorting, so the only alternative is to tell people that they were going home sick and then sleep it off in the car until they sobered up enough to drive home.

After last night I now can say from experience that the combination of Sparks, four vodka Red Bulls, Art Brut and the Hold Steady will do at least one if not all of the following to the average, healthy American female:

1) dance and screech with such enthusiasm that the soreness of her feet is topped only by the soreness of her throat
2) loudly inform her friend that she's so wired she's going to grab that guy over there and either punch him or make out with him, maybe both, then quickly realize that she said this with enough forcefulness and volume that the guy heard her and consequently looks rather terrified and is backing away
3) cause her to get up in the middle of the night for water, run into a wall, then punch the wall because it was TOTALLY THE WALL'S FAULT
4) oversleep until the exact moment she is supposed to BE at the office, then punch the same wall again BECAUSE IT IS STILL TOTALLY THE WALL'S FAULT
5) show up at the office late sporting jeans, unwashed postconcert hair and a giant black smudge on her cheek from sleeping on her stamped hand, prompting a co-worker to take one look at her and start laughing hard enough to give himself a hernia
6) order and consume an entire super-size Wendy's # 3 meal at 11 AM
7) be so wired and jittery thirteen hours later that typing a short blog post takes a good 35 minutes

Over Thanksgiving dinner my bitchy aunt will ask me what the heck I'm doing with my life down there in our nation's capital. I anticipate it being the second time in my life I am completely and totally without any kind of response whatsoever.

2 comments:

pistols at dawn said...

First of all, hello. I offer the following unasked for insight:

That wall was completely at fault, and has composed a sweet mix CD full of dulcet-voiced foppish gents by means of apology.

If you hold out, it might include a Wendy's dinner to boot.

As for said aunt, I'd say, "Living a life worthy of your jealousy, and likely as not, a pinch of scorn." That, or threaten to cut her, because that always quiets fools real quick-like.

Lisa said...

excuse me, but i believe that one might also arrive at home and compose gchats to said concert-going friend that start, "motherfucker!" and then digress from there. abso-sparkin-lutely brilliant night! (also had hand-stamp on forehead to wash off, but looked in mirror prior to going to work...)