Thinking Back on a Lost Weekend

I just started feeling normal today after the severe gnarling I inflicted on myself during my best friend's wedding. It was, after all, two weeks ago..or was it three? Good christ, to think they've been at wedded bliss for almost a month now. It chaps my soul. Not in a negative way, but in a resentful way.
What I'm saying, and I think you'll see it my way, is that I'm Happy for them, but resentful at the black-bastard angel of doom heralding the end of happy, oblivious, youth, that came along with the nupitals.

No place is better suited for a hazy goodbye to youth and innocence than the wastelands of Missouri. This is in no way saying that the inhabitants of the muggy highway called MO, are themselves anyhting less than welcoming and charming, but let's face it, stripmalls and an interstate system do not a paradise make.Fortunately, Missouri has a healthy drinking culture that makes the whole experience somewhat fun and surreal.

It was on a soggy Saturday, after two days of Binge drinking and hedonist delight, that I was ushered into the bizzare protestant ritual of the presbers, to watch my friend, the man who not two days ago drank himself into an outbreak of hives, tie the knot before god, family, and friends.

I was Ill. I was sweating profusely. I didn't know how to feel. I felt like checking on the progress of my 401k, and calling my primary care physician. I felt like making a fart noise to break the tension, I felt like starting a family then abandoning them for an 18 year old russian girl with an attitude and fake breasts. I shouldn't be there, but HAD to be there. He was forcing this insanity on all of us we have to grow up eventually and here was the proof brother! In technicolor and tasteful black and pink dresses that the bridesmaids...
Is that bridesmaid making eyes at me?

I need a drink.

My German Dominatrix

Shit.

I put off planning my birthday, and now it's all coming up too quickly. I wanted a hugeous German Extravaganza with an oompah band, busty blondes, and boiled cabbage. I wanted beer, and all sorts of animal parts fitted into an assortment of casings. Teutonic mirth is a difficult thing to capture I've learned. Historically of course the Germans haven't had the best track record. Nonetheless, we seem to forgive all the historical oopsies whenever Oktoberfest rolls around. Then, they all become adorable little men, wearing leather shorts, with a fondness for pumpernickel.

I suppose it's the whole S&M thing isn't it? We enjoy the notion of beer and brats while waiting for the Gestapo to spank us and call us naughty.

Now the party, for my enjoyment, my celebration is spanking me, twisting my nipples, and making me wear a leather thong.

I hate celebrating me.