I drank too much this weekend. Of course, that pretty much describes every weekend, but there was something about this weekend that screamed "whoa, you've had waaaay toooo much there, cap".
I'm not sure why my inner-monologue would call me "cap", but it did. Just like that coon-ass Coach Ramsey from high school called everyone "cap". Which, I guess, in the big scheme of things, is better than being called "Hoss".
Anyhow, Sunday night it was decided that 'Shank and I would join my friend "Chloe" (we're changing names here to protect the innocent) and her "boyfriend" (she doesn't know what they are) Josh (real name, not innocent) for drinks to celebrate her 29th birthday. Now, 'Shank has never liked Josh, whereas I've learned to tolerate him. For the most part. Even if he can be a tool.
But I guess we call can.
We started at the Flying Saucer in Addison, drink overpriced premium beers and sitting on sofas and high-backed chairs that were not conducive to conversation. Which is probably a good thing, because Josh has a tendency to say maddening things.
Like when, after we'd migrated to the louder, more intimate setting of Joe's (me and 'Shank's watering hole, as it's within walking distance of home, thus minimizing any chance of imperial entanglements), Josh decided to tell 'Shank he was a horrible human being. Or maybe it was "miserable" or "useless".
I don't remember. The fog of $5 Coors pitchers and tequila shots won't let me see that far into my memory.
At any rate, it was one of those things that you generally don't tell people. But I guess some people never learned the lesson wherein "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all".
Because, you know, some people are totally useless assholes.
Oops...I just said something that wasn't nice.