Many people have heard of or taken their own "Walk of Shame." In a nutshell, it's the act of walking or returning home in the morning after a night of drinking, debauchery and, mostly, meaningless sex. You are wearing the same clothes you were the night before, but your hair is messed up, you smell as if you spent the night in a brewery and you could often be mistaken for a homeless person. I lovingly refer to this act not as the "Walk of Shame," but as the "Stride of Pride."
Well, this morning I pulled into my parking garage at 8:30 am. I somehow managed to drag what little was left of my dignity with me to the elevator where I was met by about a dozen neighbor's all leaving for work. I must have looked like hell and smelled like an Eastern European stripper who bathed in Jack Daniels.
Now here is the kicker, I was laughing, but I wasn't hung over. I didn't even drink the night before (save for two or three beers over 6 hours of hilarity). Appearances are usually more than they seem. With me, that usually isn't the case, but I have a reputation that precedes me in almost every aspect of my life. Where I live is no different. My neighbor's think I have a huge partying and drinking addiction. After the epic parties I've held here and the years of stumbling in at every hour of the night or day, they've come to develop pretty strong opinions. Opinions that have actually been addressed during Strata council meetings.
I've been warned, threatened, fined and almost kicked out.
Blah.
I'm over it and over trying to make a coherent post.
I'm heading out. Don't call me. Or do. Whatever.
PS - 17 Days until Wolf Parade. My boner is huge.
