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Oops! I Did It Again

August 8, 2012

I woke up Sunday morning feeling a little bit more than worse for wear. Word to those who live at sea level – drinking at high altitudes gives you a bitch of a hangover. Normally I can drink like the girl from good Irish stock that I am, but I’ve been out of practice lately since I’ve been on a diet getting ready for Dave’s and my vow renewal in Vegas in September. Girl’s gotta look her best if she’s going to be sung to by Elvis while her beau reaffirms his contract of indentured servitude for another 5 years. So let’s just say a little went a long way, and a lot went an even longer way towards gettin’ my surly ass drunk. Good and drunk.

For the most part I like to think that I’m an amusing drunk. From what I understand on Saturday night there was some tabletop dancing and rambling about my new obsession with the Korean soap opera “My Husband Got a Family“. Pretty tame compared to some past episodes to be sure. I’ve had some legendary nights. I always check with Dave in the morning to make sure I’ve not gone over the line. It’s usually the question I ask before I start groping around looking for coffee and codeine. While I obviously want to make sure that I’ve not embarrassed myself, I’m usually a little more worried that I’ve embarrassed him. His is really the only opinion that counts in my world. Oh. I’m sorry. Did you think I cared what you thought? Whoops. Sorry to crush your spirits there. Yeah. I don’t actually care what you think. Deal with it.

While I nearly almost always behave, I live with an underlying concern that I will slip up and do or say something really untoward at the wrong time. I like to shock people. Most of the time there’s a running commentary in my head that is completely inappropriate, indubitably politically incorrect, occasionally racist, and almost always judgmental. Most of the thoughts in my head aren’t actual indicators of what I believe or actually think/feel at that given moment. No. It’s more that I’d like to just whip out with something really inappropriate just to see what you’d do. To see how you’d react. You, after all, are here for my entertainment.

When I was in college I had a habit of flashing my tits at people when they said something I found to be inane. Not because I’m an exhibitionist, but rather because it would leave the person I flashed completely perplexed and momentarily speechless. I’ve drunkenly grabbed a friend’s tits not because I really wanted to cop a feel, I’ve got my own for that and it’s more rewarding if I play with mine that yours. No, I did it because it flustered them and gave them pause to wonder “WTF is Surly playing at now?” You should see the look on your faces when you can’t believe what I just said or did. It’s fuckin’ priceless.

I have what amounts to a thin veneer of decorum that prevents me from doing or saying what I please just to see the look on someone’s face at any given moment. The material that this veneer is made of is both porous and flexible. Sometimes something seeps through, but usually the veneer snaps back in time to catch me before I do something too bad. I often go back and check my emails to make sure I didn’t really say to you what I was thinking when I was typing. If I’ve had a cocktail, I check them twice. My drafts folder holds a treasure trove of things I wish I’d said. So too does my brain. There are a lot of times that veneer has kept me from delivering the comeback I should have. I’ve got a list of unsaid comebacks dating back to Denise Velkabitch in the 4th grade. Sometimes I really wish my grandmother hadn’t raised me better.

While I’m not a racist person, I often want to throw antiquated racially charged phrases into my conversations just to see what people will do. These anachronistic phrases like referring to someone of Asian heritage as “an Oriental” make people squirm. I think part of the discomfort comes from their immediate recognition of the vernacular of the recent past and then the 10 second delay before their PC translator kicks in to remind them that it’s not correct to say any more. Those 10 seconds where they weren’t offended make them nervous to their core. It’s those 10 seconds I want to dine on. Dave lets me play the game with him. I say things I shouldn’t and he pretends to be shocked, shakes his head, and pours me another glass of wine. I should probably be nicer to the poor bastard since he lets me take out on him what I’d like to take out on you. You should send him a thank you note.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. August 8, 2012 6:57 pm

    I feel you.

  2. Chris Brown (not the felon) permalink
    September 6, 2012 10:03 pm

    Dear Dave,
    You poor, sorry bastard.

    Thank you.

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