Being a Mormon Must Suck

Of course now that I've chosen to give up booze for Jesus for 38 of the next 40 days, Jessie leaves for the weekend to visit Ari in The Nasty. Normally, this freedom would mean a weekend of debauchery: staying out until 5 or 6 in the morning; drinking whiskey in bed; dressing the dog up as a ninja; flirting with Target employees using the name "d'Artagnan" and talking about my three buddies "who are really into swords and fucking. Now where did you say the cereal was?"; mining bauxite; passing gas in public; triple dog daring homeless people to eat quarters for pennies. Sadly, none of these things can be achieved without the courage and wisdom that alcohol brings with it.

I'm going to be lost this weekend. What do sober people do on weekend nights? I know for sure that they don't have sex. Do they crochet while watching Murder She Wrote? Do they not eat burritos? Do they sleep? Is that what they do? I guess I'll try it, well the last one anyway. My goal is to get three nights' worth of sleep in two nights. With that as a pillar of my next two days, it's shaping up to be a horribly tame weekend, since I'll basically be trying to avoid being around alcohol (i.e., fun) the entire time, so as not to tempt myself (which I'm really good at doing).

Tonight I'm going to see a show at Second City tonight that my friend Heather is in (States! The Musical -- it runs through next Friday, so you should see it), but it certainly won't be the same sitting in Donny's Skybox without drinking a Hamm's. For Christ's sake, it's from the land of sky blue waters. Laughing sober is like trying to wipe your ass with two hands at the same time. You think you can do it, but you can't.

Tomorrow I'm going to get a haircut. Actually, I'll get all of them cut, Kevin. And I might get some suits tailored that I've had for two or three years, since I won't be taking a bath in gin, as I normally would do from three to five in the afternoon when Jessie's gone. I'll probably cry a lot, and play the Wii, and make a fort, and watch tickle fetish porn.

Tomorrow night, I'll wander the streets singing German techno pop songs. "Einen Stern der deinen Namen trägt." I'll be wearing a disco yeti costume that I'll have spent most of the day making, using stilts, felt, white leather, a Bedazzler, and Harley's fur (which I will have shaved off). "Hoch am Himmelszelt." It's not going to look very realistic, but I think the singing will overcome any visual deficiencies. "Den schenk ich Dir heut' Nacht." I also have plans to attend a Clue-themed orgy and win Mega Millions.

I should have listened to my dead grandmas' (yes, both grandmas) advice: "Kill yourself now, or else you run the risk of being hate fucked by a peacock." Is it March 14 yet?