Drunk me makes sober me really, really tired. Drunk me is full of ideas, just “ideas coming out of every hole in my body” full of ideas.
It’s up to sober me to filter them.
Here’s a hint drunk me, most of the ideas suck. Can you do a little better job at filtering them yourself maybe? Reducing the amount of ideas that you push through to morning would really help. Perhaps you, drunk me, could apply some commonsense sort of rules before you push the thought forward to the morning?
For instance you could ask yourself the following questions before forwarding the idea on to tomorrow.
1: Will the idea get me fired from work?
See this one is easy. At work we have a large, old fashioned, metal triangle fire alarm. Even when sober I want to hit it with the available medal bar while yelling nonsensical emergency things. “Salmon Attack” dong, dong, dong. “My balls itch”, dong, dong, dong. “Bring out your dead,” dong, dong, dong. “Antiquated fire systems test!” dong, dong, dong.
See it IS funny and I’ve often been TEMPTED at work to do just that. Thoughts about rigging cameras around the whole place to capture the reaction don’t help, so stop suggesting it. It would be funny, but only for about 10 minutes.
2. Does it involve being naked?
You’ve violated the wait-’til-morning rule here a few times with mixed results. I admit the close-up photo of testicles texted to, well more people than was sane or necessary, worked as a funny joke. But sober I never would have approved this idea. It was funny, yes, because the photo didn’t look like anything (other than a really close up picture of testicles) so the joke worked. I maintain you got lucky, most who received the text laughed and the ones who didn’t still talk to me so …
Don’t do that again, no more naked jokes unless I’ve (while sober) sanctioned it!
3. What does it cost?
I’m pretty sure I don’t need to remind drunk me of the strip club after the long business trip or the bill that followed.
After a grueling two-week trip to Italy, the night before I left for home, I decided, at the prompting of others and while blasted out of my mind, to visit a strip club. Sober, I, in all honesty would never, ever, not in a million years, be up for this. Drunk, boobies AND beer equaled me fully in. But here’s the thing, just because I had a tough two weeks (you’re thinking tough, two weeks and Italy don’t go together in a thought, screw you it was tough) that was NO reason to go back into the private VIP area of the club and run up a Visa bill that was both obscene and awesome at the same time. The memories from that night SHOULD HAVE BEEN epic, yet all I can remember is at one point there were two girls with me, one said something to the effect of, “you can touch them” followed by me batting at large swinging breasts like a kitten plays with a ball of yarn. My wingman, sensing economic disaster, finally pulled me out of the back room and in the morning, when I asked him why he let me stay back there so long just said, “You looked like you were having fun.” He should have bought me a ball of yarn.
This reminds me, I should buy Dagmar something expensive. When I got home this was how the confession about the strip club went …
Me: Hey I should tell you something. I spent like 2k in a strip club.
Dagmar: Did you get laid?
Dagmar: You’re an idiot.
I’m thinking a necklace or ear rings, but I’m taking suggestions.
Which leads us to …
About five days ago the $300 remote-control helicopter (Ar Drone for those who are curious) that I ordered while Maggie and Alex were visiting arrived. Even the next morning, sober, I considered canceling the order, but besides that quote from Hemingway, it passed the filter.
If nothing else, I thought the damned thing would be good for a laugh and it LOOKED easy to fly. It syncs with your smart phone or iPad and you tilt the pad to the right and it goes … how hard could this be?
The answer is hard. As Adrian pointed out in this video, the damned thing just sort of crashes a lot. The only bonus I can think of is that it scares the hell out of the cat and annoys the wife. Win some, lose some.
I say go left and it flies, with reckless abandon, right into the wall getting one of its propellers locked in between two pieces of paneling.
Forward, forward, forward … HOLY too much forward … BACKWARD full … backward into the clothes and into a full crash. The propellers are caught now in my shirts, the ones I have to wear to work. No wonder pilots are cocky … this shit is hard.
The battery lasts as long as your high-school boyfriend did, provided you’re a chick. If you’re a man the battery did an awesome job, high-five!
You can kinda get it, hovering and adjusting the altitude easy enough. Spinning in a circle left or right — also easy. Movement from a stationary position is the trick. When attempting to command the helicopter to perform movements more complex than hovering a foot off the floor it all comes down to knowing what direction the helicopter is facing in relation to the iPhone… Work it out in your brain, calculate the direction its facing and the direction you wish it to go, add 2, subtract 67, multiply by 9 (consider how old your grandmother was when she was happiest) and it’ll fly into your wall with simplistic finality. Then subtract two.