I woke up at 7:30 yesterday morning feeling absolutely no ill effects from the previous evenings drinking. While this isn’t exactly a rare occurrence these days as I’ve somehow lost communication with the part of my self that is able to tell me that I need sleep, food, and to be drinking a lot less, something amazing did happen.
I felt good.
Not ‘okay,’ not ‘fine,’ not ‘pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps-bucko’…
Good.
I don’t quite remember the last time I felt good like this but it’s nice, I’m enjoying it, and I’m looking forward to be feeling, sometime soon hopefully, the same feeling I had upon waking yesterday.
I rolled out of bed, ironed the Utilikilt, grabbed the camera, and headed to work. I was happy I brought the camera too, because the usually mountainous landscape had an eerie, Halloween-esque feel to it.
The full moon had settled to just above the horizon, and an advancing storm was threatening to pull it under the clouds and out of my view. The weather report said that we’d be having a nice day in the city, but the chain-laws were in effect in the mountains, and they were having blizzard-like conditions. The Rockies reflected this as the foothills that rise up out of the Western edge of the city were the only things that were to be seen clearly. The normally glorious view that the mornings present of the mountains behind the foothills, with the sun hitting them head-on, had vanished completely in favor of a flat-gray band of heavy, cold-looking, clouds.
While I was bitter about not being able to get my fix of one of my favoritest morning views ever, I could still appreciate the surreal feeling it gave me, and grabbed the camera. Unfortunately, traffic actually started moving at that point and, while I was debating between being “the guy I’m normally screaming at” and snapping a photo while driving, my decision was made for me when a giant moving truck pulled alongside me and blocked all possible shots. After he moved on, there were trees. After the trees came the office buildings, and by the time I was finally open for a picture, the foothills had shifted and my shot was lost.
It was most cool though, trust me.
After I parked and began trekking to the front, a violent gust of wind blasted across the lot, and my kilt ended up blowing all over the freakin’ place. There’s some ‘Division of Rivers Office of Wildlife’ or some shit on the bottom floor of our building, and I gave those that were looking an interesting show, especially after I started giggling and threw a Marilyn pose.
Tee hee.
I really love my job though, and not wanting to get fired, I’d given careful consideration to going “True Scots” or not. I’d brought along some undies, just in case I turned into a total pussy and started worrying about sexual harassment and all that shit. Despite the fact that the wind that hit my fellas was FUCKING COLD, my desire not to offend anyone unknowingly with such blatant display of the guys was what made me put on that pair of boxer briefs. Naturally, there were no more displays the entire day, but I know, had I NOT had them on, there would have been.
Sadly, very few people that promised to dress up, actually dressed up, and I knew that I didn’t really count as I wear the Utilikilt on any occasion, including working outside on the weekends and GroundHog Day.
Gayb0y didn’t disappoint though, and I’d barely sat down when he popped into my cube.
He was quite excited because his husband, Rainman, was dressed up too, though he wouldn’t let me take his picture. Flam disappointed me terribly by not only failing to dress up as one of the Williams Sisters, but he didn’t even attend the Pot Luck that we had. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t love me anymore.
I posed for a couple shots that I plan on entering into the Utilikiltarian of the month contest on the Utilkilt web site. They’ve got an At Work Gallery too, and at the very least I should make it into that.
CoworkerBuddy agreed to snap some photos for me but his picture-taking skills are sorely lacking. Instead of moving the camera, himself, or zooming out when he couldn’t fit all of me in the shot, he just asked me to slouch down. Of course I did, and the debate over which of us is a bigger idiot rages on.
This picture doesn’t do justice to the Nerf D@rt Guns, blinky bouncy balls, yo-yos, and other assorted shit that is preciously stored in my cube, but you still get the idea.
Gayb0y came by again, mostly because he’s as big a camera whore as I am.
After the picture was taken, he was very impressed as he lisped, “You’re sssso tall!” At least he still loves me.
One of the only other people to dress up is not my most favorite person. Not long after I started this diary I wrote in exasperation about having to go in and clean up her work. I had to disguise her too, but the Hanson glasses were cool enough to stay. Her costume wasn’t bad either, I guess.
Last night, me, CoWorkerBuddy and our co-worker/his roommate, RoomateGirl, all went out and took on that thriving CowTown, home of beer and politicians, Golden, Colorado.
There’s not a ton of bars that either of them like save a few, and we ended up spending most of the night in a great dive bar, where we met up with some of CoWorkerBuddy’s friends, one of whom is the self-proclaimed, “Captain of Golden.” I believe it too, for there must have been 200 people in and out of that bar over the night, and he knew every fucking one of them. He didn’t just know everybody, but loved everybody. Captain Social Butterfly flitted from group to group all night.
It was pretty cool hanging out with him and having numerous women make attempts at lifting up the kilt. Sadly, the quickest I had to be all night was against the most aggressive lifter of them all, a tight, tiny nurse who is married and may actually know the Mom, I’m not sure. She sure wanted under there though and even bought me a beer to bribe me. Hey, you know me, anything for free beer. I still didn’t show her though, something about her aggressiveness turned me off. Oh, and she got so drunk that she passed out into our booth.
Before I knew it, RoomateGirl and I were having deep conversations about literature and college, I was helping CoWorkerBuddy work a couple girls at the Pinball machine, Captain Butterfly was introducing me to a biker that wanted to kick my ass, and I was so goddam drunk that when I exited the men’s room I pitched forward flat onto my face.
The Captain picked me up and brushed me off, CoWorkerBuddy grabbed my jacket, and I told the biker that I’d give him all he could handle on another night. He told me that he’d fight fair, no weapons or anything. I told him that I NEVER fight fair, don’t use weapons either, but I would kick him in the junk and bite his ears and such and that this is the precise reason that I am undefeated in bar brawls.
I did NOT tell him that my record is 1-0 and that I’m a complete pussy too.
Then RoomateGirl subtly reminded me that I didn’t necessarily know why BikerGuy wanted to kick my ass.
She made an excellent point, so I asked him.
He used many colorful words to describe my attire, it’s improperness (is that a word?), my sexual orientation, and my alleged sexual proclivities towards animals.
I told him simply that I’m an easy-going guy that’s just wearing a kilt and that I am none of the things he just shouted at me. I told him I would be happy to buy him a beer with my remaining $1.25, and that after that, if he still wanted to fight, I’d gladly “stomp a fucking hole in his head.”
I threw in the tough talk to mask the fact that I was shaking and terrified.
He laughed and asked me if I was serious. I told him that I was very drunk and wanted to go lay someplace flat and comfortable. I told him that I wanted nothing to do with his obvious issues with a man who is self-confident enough to carry himself around in a skirt, and if he was going to impose those issues upon me, I was going to react very harshly and violently.
I, once again, neglected to tell him that my reaction would be much more similar to screaming-like-a-little-girl-and-running-away than harshness-and-violence, but I’d had a rough week and was able to pull off the ‘mean’ look, I guess.
He laughed again, grabbed the bar wench, and ordered 2 shots. He told me that he’d let me go home if I downed some Tequila with him, and I could keep my ‘fucking buck and a quarter.’
I’d be lying if I told you that the situation went all Disney after that and we became friends. He still called me a “c*m-drunk fagg0t” and told me to go home and pass my ‘girly ass out’ but, hey, free Tequila and no ass-whuppin’. I came out alright.
I awoke at 7:45 AM, still drunk, and found that CoWorkerBuddy and RoomateGirl’s two labs decided to play, and that the couch I was sleeping on was one of their favorite spots to do so. Having my small speckled gotard step on my balls in the mornings is nothing like an 85-pound lab. My condolences to those of you that deal with this, may the ice on your nuts always be cold and comforting.
This is when I found one of their fuzzy-streamer toys after getting up. I don’t know why it was in my boot but I suppose I was fortunate that it was the only thing in there.
I’m pretty sure that I was still drunk, so I waited until my head started to hurt before I walked back to the bar for my truck. Thankfully, there is a St*rbucks across the street, and the nice lady making my coffee threw in an extra shot because I ‘obviously needed it sweetie.’
When the six-foot blonde cutie making coffee notices how shitty I look without ever commenting on the Utilikilt, something’s got to change.
I think I’m going to quit drinking for a while.