I guess it depends on your definition of ”excessive” as well as the definition of "illicit." And how can illicit drugs actually be on my blog? What does that mean? Am I not allowed to talk about them, pro or con, report about them, or horror of horrors, post a picture?
What about my open homosexuality? What if I'm breaking a law in some locale where this blog is read? Aside from that, there's definitely not any hacking/cracking going on here, so maybe I can skate on by this one. Just curious, what about good old-fashioned American freedom of speech? Is that a problem?
But since we're now on the subject, I have a question. Why is marijuana illegal, not just to consume but simply growing it can result in confiscation of your home and/or other personal property AND a lengthy prison sentence while American-style football, particularly for high school students who are too young to even buy a beer or a cigarette, is not only legal but encouraged by many parents?
I just don't get it. Marijuana never gave me so much as a headache. About the worst thing I can say about it is that I sometimes laugh at stupid stuff, and sometimes laugh at not so stupid stuff, and then I actually just go to bed and have a peaceful slumber. But I never got no friggin' CONCUSSION from it!
A recent study found that 47 percent of high school pigskin players suffered a concussion each season, according to statistics gathered by the National Center for Injury Prevention.
Thirty-five percent of players say they had more than one concussion in the same season.
Multiple concussions increase the risk of long-term damage to the brain, doctors say.
Yet, most concussions at the high school level go unreported to athletic trainers.
Anyhow, I have digressed from the entire point of this post. The full moon kicking my ass. I am still in recovery from Thursday. The big shocker was hearing the news that the biggest client at our agency is about to pack up and head to New Yawk City. And my position and future is far from certain. After a full workday feeling like an episode of the Twilight Zone (or a David Lynch film), a few of us headed out to a happy hour hosted by one of our vendors -- a local TV station.
Tequila and beers were flowing freely and generously. Too bad we all forgot to eat anything. Liquid dinners all around. And plenty of sorrows needing a quick drowning.
After about 2 hours of this, the gay bar across the street was looking mighty fine. So the six of us trotted across the street for another round. I remember feeling quite fine as I crossed the street. I even still had most of my memory. But something unexpected happened in the next 10 minutes or so.
I remember ordering something -- a beer perhaps, in this empty bar/club except for a few obvious regulars sitting around the bar area. The dance floor lured us in. Actually it was a small elevated area accessed by a couple of long steps. That's a bad idea.
I remember (s)tumbling under the swirling disco lights as I tried to navigate my way up and down. Those steps were rendered damn nearly invisible. I still don't remember what I drank and I'm sure I only had one drink, but the flood of alcohol from the previous tequila shots was hitting me like an 18-wheeler at this point.
txrad says I have a new theme song:
As we tried to leave, I had trouble finding my way out the front door. I remember going into an alcove area which was like a room of mirrors with no way out. What kind of sicko pervert would do something like this to a hapless drunk?
I also had a scrape on my elbow which I would not discover until Friday morning. I assumed I had fallen while trying to find the steps at the dance area. When I spoke to one of my friends from work who was with us, she informed me that I had actually fallen completely off the stage, and then got back up like nothing had happened and kept dancing. That probably explains the scrape, as well as all my sore muscles.
Heavy drinking and exercise don't mix. kona's new motto: exercise or dance your ass off while sober (or at least sober enough to remember what the hell you did the next day), and get rip-roaring drunk at home.
No need to walk 7 or 8 blocks to find a car that you shouldn't be driving anyway.
Another kona motto: If you are too drunk to find your car, you are too drunk to drive.
And that's illegal, isn't it?
Damn, I'm gonna lose this moon phase calculator.