Had a pace car morning. Steady triumvirate of nightly imbibings. Giving my liver a workout. Often after a pool of vodka settles in my stomach I get a hankering for culinary sponges. Healthy grub ain't the goal at those points. Besides, seaweed salad and rice milk are volatile substances gastrointestinally speaking anyway. Combine with a pipe cleaner like vodka and you got anal chernobyl. So create a nice plug of pizza and disco fries. Which acts as a pace car the next day for the over excited liquified racers piling up behind it. Had a pace car morning.

Saturday ate donkey. Fairly positive I roared a few lines of completely non politically correct insults to the rascals who started renovating an apartment in my building at six in the fucking a.m. on a Saturday. Completely ready to eat their faces during the work week anyway, but rev up the bandsaw and the plumbing banging on a Saturday morning and I'd like to turn their children into stew. Anyway. Disturbed by a dream that my apartment door was kicked in and covert ops agents tossed a dozen black disc bombs throughout my home. Diving into the bathtub as my apartment blows up around me. Wake up to the retarded noises of builders. Not much sleep was had.

Jobby job arranged a chasm of crap to be dispensed on yours truly. Huge migration of our largest customer over to the next generation interface. Caused uber havok. Fingers did not stop moving all night. Completely unable to ignore this place as I customarily do on Saturdays. Well, most days of the week actually.

Barely escaped in time to get to my weekly improv performance. I was so far up in my head with geek shit that I believe I waffled. People once again told me I was funny. I think I just growled at everyone all night. After set drinks were in order.

Rousing from my liqour coma the next afternoon, poured myself into the shower.

One advantage of allowing too many channels into my home is that at least one of the multitude of movie channels will show a movie I actually find enjoyable. So Drugstore Cowboy and a disappointing match where Ireland lost to the Spainairds, was my hangover space out. Never in pain really when dealing with the consequences of the high the next day. Slightly flatlined though. Commercial free mindless visual input and snuggling with a bottle of crisp water are the best brain bandaids. Bolstered for more, called the homies.

Chick in the social circle was manning the helm at Smithfield on Essex. Deep deep flow of Stolichnaya. A few Irishmen rowdying it up, soothing their World Cup wounds. She wraps it up and we head a couple doors down to Whiskey Ward to play some stick.

The man with the stash arrives. Decided quickly that we should all be smoked out. Head outside to a spot under some scaffolding.

I hand the blown glass pipe over to the same chick who was dispensing cocktails at Smithfield earlier. Beat cop, Batman style, swoops in and busts her. She signals for me to bounce while she sweet talks him. All the men head across the street and watch over the ladies attempting to utilise their charms to resolve the situation. Two fucking cop cars and a pair of bicycle cops start piling in. The one cop recognises me and the consensus is that I should go back to the bar.

Man with the stash premonitionally intelligent, didn't join the outdoors pot huddle. My name is called to play pool. I am freaking out a bit cause, literally five seconds an I'd be bargaining with the pigs myself. I've been in lockup before. Not a favorite memory. The crew stumbles on in with ugly expressions. Hauled her ass in, cuffs and all.

She didn't have her I.D. on her. Astronomical mistake. The climate in NYC is terrorism edgy, and being unable to prove who you are rewards you with a chat downtown.

I ask what needs to be done. They decide I should hold fort at the bar. Updates cell phone wise for the next couple hours. Jail heebie jeebies responding to thirsts. Tipsy quickly. Garnered digits from a shortie who played several games of pool with me. Headed out the door.

Finished the night at Doc Holliday's. Selfishly erasing all memories of jailed senoritas by falling into the lovely arms of Valerie, aqua vitae goddess. Watched the States triumph over Mexico. Assured myself of a proper plug with a couple of chipotle chicken soft tacos. Decided on a repeat inebriated performance the next night at the Library. Good decision, met an hottie executive class who wants to see me smack down some improv. Spackled my insides with boiled sauerkraut pierogis, side of sour cream. Had a pace car morning.