#Weekend Open Bar
Spend time with me this weekend!
I’m hammering out this opening salvo quickly, because, I must confess, I gotta scrub my ass. Birthday dinner is waiting! Stuff guts with Mexican food! Then, tonight, Wrestle Kingdom with Bateman is waiting! Stuff guts with pizza, with sugar, with glory, and with glee. But, friends. Don’t think I’m neglecting you! This very hammering out, this very textual blitzkrieg is evidence I care about you!
I’ve been suffering, indulging, and enjoying this past week. I’ve had it off from work, the first legitimate vacation from work since, well, I don’t know. Logically, I shouldn’t lament this fact. For, I know motherfuckers in this empathy-barren world work way more than me, and get no breaks. Emotionally, I’m so fucking stoked. However, I’m facing the typical fork in the road as vacation winds down. Do I just embrace the indulgence, the corpulence, the chemical-insanity for a few more days (I will). Or, do I begin to wind down the Caligulian existence, and prepare for reentry on Tuesday (I won’t)?
Whatever the case, let’s spend the waning days of DisasterYear2017 together, friends! Here in the Weekend Open Bar!
What’s up, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m aiight, kicking it. I’m aiight, sluggishly tumbling headfirst into the final weekend of the semester. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. Skull-meat’s synapses barely firing, as my thickened blood fails to pump all that well.
But, I’m blessed enough to have the weekend off.
Hello, friends! It’s Weekend Open Bar! Pull a chair up to the hearth. Summon your favorite chemicals from the servo-droid behind the counter. Pop off your pants, oh, I know, they’re a bit tight from this week’s corpulence. And relax! Just straight-up fucking relax with me. Your co-host, your champion, your spirit-guide. Let us move together through a miasma of revelry, consumption, contemplation, and companionship.
What are you up to this weekend, comrades? Shoving any old ladies out of the way for a discounted blender at TarMart? Catching up on any stories on the TeleVisor? Trying to rationalize the utter depravity that is your diet these past few days?
Friends! Friends. I’m at a level of fatigue that I do not usually reach. Oh, the ethers from beyond beckon me towards slumber. Like not eternal slumber, don’t get me wrong. More like, oh, I don’t know. Eating six Pop Tarts, drowning my esophagus in ice cream, and drifting off. Drifting off where? Ideally to the Astral Plane for a good twelve or so hours. Just ripping ass, snoring, and healing my weakened mind-shafts.
The good news?
The good news is that I am of that privileged sort that has the weekends off.
This hermetic, extroverted-introvert has been stumbling through this week. Somewhat, nay, totally viewing Friday afternoon as a refuge seemingly never arriving. Last weekend’s Weddings Doubleheader just left me goddamn mentally depleted. Look at all the fucking italics! Look at all the emphasis! Delirious! Drunk off emotional expenditure!
It’s the Weekend! It’s the Open Bar. Arriving not a moment too soon, too. For some reason, it’s been a long goddamn week. That ain’t a rhetorical opener, either. Don’t know why, but this week has run me ragged. The good news, oh the good news, is that I have two fucking weddings lined up to really put the nail through my emotional skull. But, I can’t complain too much. The weekend is stacked with merriment, outside of the culturally produced, economically encouraged social obligations.
I got scalps on my mind! Nazi-hunting on my mind. Got some (wait for) stranger things on my mind too, involving the 1980s and Lovecraftian monsters.
So, all in all, I suppose I ain’t too despondent about the weekend.
Man. If you only knew how much time I burned through looking for a header image for this post. If you only knew how much time I burned through trying to come up with a title for this post. But here I am, folks. Opening up the Weekend Open Bar for one and all.
Now. I’m covered in sweat, lowered in the couch, delayed in showering before this evening’s activities.
Later. I’ll be covering myself in crumbs, lowering myself in the couch, consuming media with Bateman.
You. What are you doing tonight? Saturday? This weekend? What are you playing? Eating? Watching? Reading? Contemplating?
Somehow. It’s time for yet another Weekend Open Bar.
It’s the fucking weekend, baby!
Not a minute too soon, not a moment too early. Caught myself some Blade Runner 2049 last night (it’s fucking amazing), and it was worth it! But goddamn, did I ever mentally and physically pay the Iron Price for it. No sleep, very little sleep, what sleep was had was shoddily attained that.
It’s the fucking weekend, baby!
We are literally awash in Biblical Ass Shit these days, folks. Official term for the fires gnashing their away across Western portion of the Empire, and the Hurricanes engulfing the Eastern portion. The Earth’s melting, the boot of the Empire is stomping, and the Universe itself is dying. Thus, while there are bigger things to worry about than being late opening the Weekend Bar, I still feel bad. For if we can’t dance together as the Palaces burn, what can we do?
So, let’s hang out! Indulge in the chemicals and calories of your choice, pull up a chair, and shoot the shit with me.