Mood Piece: New Shit, Bad Wakeup

I made a mistake the other day. I went to the store, then got drunk that night. I'm not talking about just any trip to the store though. I bought shit: a bunch of shit. I'm talking about an "I got a gift card" kind of trip to the store. This was one of those trips brought on from the special sort of circumstances that can only exist when you are a 20-something, single man, not living at home. I had to go to the store because my shit was broke. I reached that break point where all that shit I got for my dorm years ago would no longer do. The discoloration on the sheets is so that I no longer know what color they started as. My alarm clock is held together by duct tape and will power and doesn't go off so much as it chirps this painful dying sound. The pillow is literally a piece of fabric that used to have stuffing, but despite having no holes in it, is somehow missing all its innards. And don't even get me started on those towels (shouldn't washing take care of the smell).

Yeah, it was one of those massive shopping trips, set off one morning when I put on an episode of Good Times and think about how nice their shit is and remember what the backdrop of that show is. So, I go to the store, get new everything. Being a man, I don't look for sales and compare prices in the way that, say, a woman would. First of all, Bed, Bath, and Beyond is never in consideration. No, I'm going somewhere where I can get all my shit at once, and maybe get an Icee. I pick a Target in this case. And, I look for sales. Thread count has no effect on my decision. Whatever's cheaper, I get. I raid the clearance aisle for the cheapest Dora the Explorer alarm clock I can find. Get the extra-super firm pillow (see plywood) because it's the only one on sale. It doesn't really matter. The important part is that I'm still out of the store before that guy with his girlfriend is out of the discount nic-nac section at the entrance. I make sure to wave at him as I'm getting my Icee.

So that takes care of the shopping. I go home and start setting up all this new shit I have. When all is said and done, my room looks almost livable again. I feel that sense of grown-up pride you get whenever you do something really boring that they talk about in Redbook.

Then, I go on to celebrate my adultness. I think, "You know what would go great with the rest of my half-filled Icee? (yeah, I got the extra-large because it was only a nickel more than the small and I'm still riding that smart shopping high). What would go well with it? A whole lotta vodka. I pour myself that drink. Empty the bottle because the cup has room and there's not enough in the bottle for two nights of what I determine is "light drinking", sit down, and turn on the TV. Hey, Good Times is still on. John Amos just died so they're doing an all day marathon. Dy-no-mite! Wait, that would be a fun drinking game. It's not long before that whole drink is gone. Luckily it's still only 7 so I go to bed that night, only a little buzzed, but I need that good night's sleep anyway. I barely even care how uncomfortable there 50 thread could sheets (see Sandpaper) are. I fall right asleep. Here's where the mistake comes in.

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"Despierte, sleepyhead!" "Despierte, sleepyhead!" "Despierte, sleepyhead!"

I wake up in a panic. The room is dark, a little Mexican girl is yelling at me. And I am sleeping under wax paper. Nothing around me looks familiar. I don't know where I am, and would somebody shut that little girl up! Am I in her room? How much did I drink last night! What is happening?!

I look in every direction for any sort of digital, lit, time device. I see the alarm clock. 12:00 AM. It keeps getting louder and louder. I grab hold of the danm thing but I don't know how to work it. I still have no idea where I am or what is happening, but I know that all meaning in life is dependent on turning that god forsaken alarm off. In a fit of rage, I hurl the clock at the wall. It turns off alright, but at the expense of Dora's poor head, which flies off somewhere.

Finally, after a few more panicked seconds, it all starts coming back to me: the sheets, the clearance aisle. Jimmy Walker! I have made myself a stranger in my own room, and drank myself into forgetting about it.

Now I regroup. What time is it? It is really midnight. I never set the alarm. I get up. Swear off drinking for life. Pop open a beer. Change that oath to laying off the hard stuff. Pick up the alarm clock and the head. Grab some duct tape. And pray to God I get married before I ever have to buy myself new stuff again.