Drinking just got more dangerous than ever. If you have a blog.

Drunk photography mishap #1: capturing texture & shadow.

Drunk photography mishap #1: capturing texture & shadow.

I did something really stupid the other night. I blogged! UNDER THE INFLUENCE! Fortunately I don’t get so inebriated anymore, and had the wherewithal to hit “save” rather than “publish”. But I was far enough under the influence to actually think I had something to say at that moment that was worth reading. To others, yet. I just re-read it. It’s quite embarrassing in its banality. Here’s an excerpt:

It’s nearly 2am and I just got in after a long night of a meeting with my screenwriting coach, no food, an unnecessarily long wait at a BART station for a train, and walking home at an ungodly late hour because MUNI was nowhere to be seen. So I met my pal Rob for a drink. No, 3. We had a lot to catch up on and it ws fun watching the Mardi Gras hoo ha going on.

So now I’m home & hungry & of course there’s virtually no food. So mama gets creative. Did you know roasted soy nuts & shelled sunflower seeds are @ 1/10 the price of

Yup, that’s it. No secrets revealed. No solutions to world hunger. Just thoughts so lame they’re not even worth writing a complete sentence about or spellchecking. Even when drunk.

Drunk photography mishap #2: the badass facebook profile self-portrait.

Drunk photography mishap #2: the badass facebook profile self-portrait.

Drunk-blogging. It’s like drunk-dialing, only the call goes out to the entire goddamn world. Fortunately, most the world doesn’t answer my calls (or rather, read my blog); so I think it would have been okay. But for the lovely people who do read, I would have either tarnished forever my reputation as a writer, or a person with good judgment — or at the very least given them a good snicker at the expense of my dignity.

Other activities where performance is compromised (and judgement impaired) by the bottle:

Photography: Ah, the things you deem worthy of photographing. I’ve identified a few categories of drunk photography, evidence provided. Note: these are re-enactments. Yes, they are. And then there’s the quality of the photo. Trust me, my camera is a lot smarter than me after I’ve had a few. That auto / manual feature really fucks with my head.

XCU and lack of context. Wow.

Drunk photography mishap #3: XCU and lack of context. So creative.

Snacking: I think the problem here has more to do with the lack of groceries in my refrigerator. I tend to only shop when I cook for friends, about once a week. So there are usually leftovers for a day or so. After that, just the usual stash of fruits & vegetables (I’m a healthy girl), and an array of Greek stuff (fig jam, figs, olives, olive spread, feta, walnuts… you get the picture). We dazzling urbanites eat out a lot. Which sounds great. Until you come home hungry and drunk and really have a craving for a burrito. Or carrot cake. Or a vanilla malt. Or leftover Chinese. Or anything but what’s in my fridge. But that’s all you got. So… it’s homemade trail mix at 3am. I have… raisins and roasted soy nuts. mmmmmmm! Oh well, I guess the good news is at least I’m eating something healthful at 3am, even if it is for all the wrong reasons.

I think I’ll deliberately do a drunk blog draft — any sacrifice for my art. For one month, I’ll see what inane crap I write in the wee hours and actually save it (hidden bonus: this gives me a great excuse to not cut back on drinking!). But the real danger here is: I’LL BE DRUNK. This could be a costly mission I’ve set before myself, for I might easily hit the “publish” button, rather than “save”. And not realize it, because I’ll be drunk (this post breaks the world record for # of times the word “drunk” appears in a blog entry — just a non-drunk observation), I could forget I wrote the entire post in the first place. Wow, a blog blackout. A blogout.

Feet photos give navel-gazing a good name.

Drunk photography mishap #4: Feet photos give navel-gazing a good name. Especially when you barely get your feet in the shot.

I haven’t had an anything blackout since high school, and that was just the once. Who even remembers what the winning substance combination was on that night? (Though my money’s on Canadian Mist & Lowenbrau). Nevertheless, I woke up, alone and safe in my bed. In my pajamas. Everything where it should be. AND I HAD NO IDEA HOW I GOT THERE. At the time we were living in a condominium complex, with a shared parking lot. I had been driving the collective “kid’s” car the night before. Did the car make it home in one piece? I had no idea. So I walked to the parking lot. Looked around for a while… oh, there it is. The aging yet still sassy ’74 Mercury Comet. Looks okay from here. Then the slow walk-around, to make sure there was no major damage or roadkill in sight. All clear.

That’s my only blackout. Uh, that I know of. That’s why they’re called blackouts.


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