I would never think of myself as suicidal. But I am that guy who thinks of things like “Hey, wouldn’t a bottle of red wine and Nyquil help me fall asleep?” which is what went through my mind yesterday night. I am aware that it’s not the greatest thought of mine (that’s a whole nother blog topic) but I fucked up my sleep routine (napping until 9pm) and needed something to help pass the wee hours of the night. Sure there are alternatives to a potentially deadly wine and Nyquil mixer which could include working out (gym was already closed), eating turkey, or hitting the town (the rain was turrible), but my mind was made up. So dumb, I know. Of course “stupidity” would be a terrible reason for attempted suicide so at least allow me to explain WHY I was so tired by Friday afternoon. It makes for a better story and a much better suicide note.
I was fortunate enough to travel to lovely Mechanicsburg, PA earlier this week for work. Since I was out of my territory, I was being put up in the finest hotel known to mankind – Comfort Inn. This did not make me happy as I am a Marriott snob. I enjoy my points, waffle in the morning, and most importantly, the free cookies at 5pm. I also enjoy a comfortable bed and a shower that is not aimed at my balls – the exact opposite of what I got at the Comfort Inn. So while my balls were clean, the nights were sleepless.
A lack of sleep would be fine if there were fun things to do in Mechanicsburg. But nope, not in this Podunk town. Considering Papa John’s was voted as the town’s best pizza (seriously) and the highlight of many townies was to attend karaoke at TGI Fridays, you can easily see that I was SOL. I did wind up attending the beginning of Friday’s “Search for the Worst Karaokean” and was sadly disappointed when no one sang Rebecca Black. Get it?
(You know, because I was at Fridays and her song is called Friday... Oh God, I give up.)
All was not lost when I stumbled upon a hybrid Chuckie Cheese/Dave & Busters at the other side of town. It was a hybrid because it both served alcohol and allowed kids to have their pizza parties there. Chris Hanson would be proud. After getting a drink, I headed over to the basketball machine. Sadly, there were issues with the balls getting released (if only they could use the Comfort Inn showers) so that game was not happening.
Anyway with vodka cranberry in hand, I decided to take on all comers in DDR. A six year old here, an eight year old there – neither were any match for my dancing skills. At that point I stopped, since a couple of the parents were giving me dirty looks. At first, I thought that they, too, wanted to watch me dance. Until I realized that a grown man competing against little kids with a vodka cranberry in hand looked a tad suspicious. And considering I was in the middle of nowhere, the last thing I needed was to be chased out of town by pitchfork wielding townspeople. Oh and I was definitely out of breath after two games. Too bad I had another sleepless night awaiting…
And now you know what led me to an overlong nap and the possibility of a screwed up weekend of sleep. Thankfully, my red wine/Nyquil elixir worked only for sleep induction (and not death). Because if I really wanted to die, I just would have gone to see the new Madea movie. That would have given me a much better reason for suicide.
